


Big Dreams

by mosylu



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Historical AU, the world of the musical episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 05:55:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12811095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosylu/pseuds/mosylu
Summary: Cisco knows he's not going to be a busboy forever. But what he doesn't realize is that he's not the only one at the club with big dreams.





	Big Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> For today's NaNo story, I got the sudden wild hair to write a Killervibe AU set in the world of the musical episode, and since this month is all about various wild hairs, I went with it. Since we didn’t see Caitlin in the musical portion, but we did get a reference to Cisco having big dreams, I figured I would expand on that some. Apologies for any inaccuracies - it’s been awhile since I saw the episode. Thanks to @hedgiwithapen for pointing me at a transcript.
> 
> Also, even though they were very fuzzy about the exact time period (as suits the timeless movie musical feel) I’ve elected to set it immediately post-WWII, if only because I’ve written in that period before and have an affection for it.

“Hello,” said a soft voice.

Cisco looked up at the pretty girl in the flouncy cocktail waitress’s outfit. “Hey,” he said in surprise. They’d never exchanged words before. “Uh. Fancy meeting you here.”

He felt bad for not remembering her name, but as far as he knew, not many people at the club did. She didn’t drink any of the leftover booze after the club closed up, or hang around chatting with everybody, or grab a smoke on the fire escape. She came in, did her work, and left.

Most of the others called her a snob, but Cisco had a warm feeling toward her for how she’d handled the question of their breaks. 

This corner of the back staircase was quiet and well-lit - the perfect place to sit and write music. Apparently, it was also the perfect place for her to sit and read, making notes to herself in a little notebook. 

After a few nights of tripping over each other in this coveted spot, she had started giving him a little wave when she went to and returned from her break, and he returned the favor - silently coordinating their schedules so that they both got this little corner of the staircase to themselves.

It wasn’t a perfect system - some nights, you had to take your breaks when they came - but when that happened, they sat a few steps apart. He refrained from humming his favorite clusters of notes, and he felt like she tried to keep the scratch of her pencil to a minimum.

Now, though, she showed no signs of settling down with her book. “Can you come with me?” she said instead. “I want to show you something.”

He looked at her suspiciously as she picked her way down the stairs past him. “Where are we going?”

She looked over her shoulder. “You’ll see.”

They went down the staircase, and he told himself not to look at her rear in the flouncy skirt, or the neatness of her ankles in the kitten-heel shoes, or the little reddish-brown curls that escaped her hairdo to cuddle up to her slender neck. That was how a fella like him got in trouble with a girl like her.

She took a turn, and another turn, and he was torn between being kind of excited and a little scared, because seriously, she wore a tiny chip of diamond on her left hand, and it would be just like him to get tangled up with a girl who had a big moose of a guy waiting at home for her.

She dipped her hand into her cleavage and pulled out a little key on a chain, which she used to unlock a door off to one side. It was dim inside the room, downright romantic.

 _Oh boy,_ he thought, and explained to himself that he was not going to walk into that room and kiss that cocktail waitress, no matter how much he wanted to. Kiss her or do anything else with her. He turned his head and put one hand up to block his view, trying not to hear the soft rustle of her dress and the click of a light switch.

“Aren’t you going to look?” she said softly, and the timbre of her voice stroked up and down his skin.

“Miss, not, uh, not that I’m not very flattered, and um, very tempted.” So tempted. “But I don’t feel like it’s the best idea, what with you being engaged to be married and all - ”

“Pablo,” she said sharply. “Would you stop gibbering and just look at what I have to show you?”

He couldn’t resist looking, and then gasped aloud. “Aren’t you pretty,” he cooed, crossing the room and walking right past her. “Aren’t you just _gorgeous._ ”

He settled himself at the piano in the center of the room. He ran his fingers lovingly over the ivory keys, and almost sighed at the beautifully tuned sound.

“It’s an extra practice room,” she said. “They sometimes use it during the day but never after about four. If you get here before your shift, you could practice a little if you wanted.”

“If I wanted,” he said longingly. “You sure I won’t get in trouble?”

She shrugged. “Cutter Moran himself gave me the key and said I could use it any way I liked.”

He almost broke his neck, whipping around to stare at her. “You’re engaged to Cutter Moran?”

“No!” she cried. “It’s not like that. I’m just the only one who can make a perfect Old Fashioned, apparently. He asked if he could do anything for me and I said I could use a place to study.”

“Well, wasn’t that kind of him?” Cisco said, still wondering if he should skedaddle before Cutter Moran came down on him like a ton of bricks for laying eyes, if nothing else, on his girl. God, it would hurt to leave this piano behind.

“I wondered the same thing you’re thinking, but he doesn’t seem to want anything from me but a drink every hour, on the hour.” She fiddled with the key. “If you want the truth,” she muttered, “even though he has a son, I don’t think he’s especially interested in girls.”

His brows went up. Well. That put a different spin on Cutter Moran’s war with those two gangsters. He wondered what the story was there, and told himself it was none of his business.

He turned back to the piano and played a few chords. “My name’s not Pablo.”

“What?”

“You called me that a few minutes ago. Pablo’s not my name.”

“It’s not? But Grady - ”

“Grady’s following the boss’s lead, and that’s what the boss calls all us Spanish fellas. Says he can’t be bothered to remember all those weird names.” He tried not to let the bitterness leach through, but some of it came out.

Her brows went up. “Because Cutter is so standard. I thought it was strange we had five busboys all with the same name. What’s your real name, then?”

“Francisco,” he said. “Cisco for short.”

“Cisco,” she said. “Nice to meet you. And I’m Caitlin.”

He looked up. “Hiya, Caitlin.”

She settled herself in a chair, setting her book aside. “As long as we’re cleaning up misconceptions - I’m not engaged.”

His hands paused over the keys for a split second. Then he continued playing, telling himself that a girl like that probably had a beau, even if he hadn’t tied her down yet. “You wear a ring. Married?”

“Not that either,” she said. “Totally unattached. One of the other girls told me a ring wards off the octopi.”

“The - ?”

“The handsy fellows.”

“And does it?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes.” She twisted the ring on her finger. “I was supposed to be, you know. Married.”

“What happened?”

“He died.”

He stopped playing altogether. “I’m sorry to hear that. The war?”

Her eyes looked far away. “The Pacific. After the surrender. He was supposed to come home.”

He didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry? Gosh, I bet you miss him? It all sounded idiotic. Not nearly enough to cover the depth of her loss. “That sounds hard,” he said, and it was even more banal than his other options.

“It is,” she said simply. “Have you written a lot of music?”

Well. That subject had been closed, for sure. He nodded. “A steamer trunk’s worth, at least. Is that why you brought me down here?”

She nodded. “And because I heard what you said to the singers to the other day. About having dreams. Being up on that stage one day.”

He looked down at the keys. “Big talk,” he muttered. “I am, though, you know. Gonna be on that stage someday. That stage and a hundred others.”

“I believe you,” she said simply. “I know about dreams. They take work. I have the feeling you’re already doing every bit of the work.”

He smiled up at her. “You gonna be on that stage too? Belting out a swoony torch number, maybe doing a little soft-shoe?”

She laughed. “Oh, no, absolutely not. I can’t sing a note.” She considered. “Well, I can sing a note, but it’s not the one you want to hear at the time.”

“Then what do you dream about?” he asked, and suddenly realized it might be her dead fiance, home again.

But she leaned forward, her face bright. “Remember how I said I was going to school?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s medical school. I’m going to be a doctor.”

He considered. “That’s a big dream, all right.”

She waited a moment. “You’re not going to ask me wouldn’t I rather be a nurse instead?”

“I figure if you’d meant nurse, you’d’ve said nurse,” he said.

She smiled.

“If you don’t mind my asking, how are you paying for medical school on the pennies they give us here?” He’d seen her at work, quietly and efficiently shuttling drinks back and forth. Quiet and efficient wasn’t what most men wanted from their cocktail waitresses.

“I have a little money from my grandmother, and Ronnie left me all his savings.” She played with her ring again. “He knew. We talked about me going to school after we got married.” She looked around. “This job just patches up the cracks, that’s all.”

“Nice girl like you doesn’t have a nice family to fall back on?”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But I was supposed to marry a doctor, not be one.”

“Did they kick you out?”

“Nothing so dramatic. My parents’ money comes with strings, that’s all. I got tired of strangling on them.”

A thump overhead drew both their attentions, and when he looked back down, Cisco caught sight of the watch on his wrist. “Oh, damn,” he swore, and added, “sorry,” automatically. “We’re both four minutes over our breaks.”

“Oh, no!” She grabbed her book.

They both scrambled for the door, hitting the light on the way. She panted up the stairs ahead of him, her heels clattering.

Just before they scrambled out onto the club floor again, she turned to him. “I’ll leave the key in my cubby,” she murmured. “Grab it anytime, okay?”

“Okay,” he said. “And, hey, I don’t know if you need absolute silence to study or anything but - I’d always welcome the company when I’m practicing.”

She blinked, and then smiled. “I’d like that. I have to go.”

“Me too.”

They rushed off in different directions, and even though he got yelled at for stretching out his break, Cisco couldn’t stop smiling, the rest of the night.

FINIS

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who’s curious about Caitlin’s ability to afford med school on a couple of inheritances and a cocktail waitress’s job, a year of tuition at UPenn med school in 1947 was 650 dollars, or a little over 7000 dollars in today’s money. And that was on the high side.


End file.
